


Diabla South

by walkedoffanoldme



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkedoffanoldme/pseuds/walkedoffanoldme
Summary: Santana Lopez is the Founder and Principal of the most cutthroat and highly-regarded performing arts school below the Mason-Dixon line: Diabla South.Quinn Fabray is twenty-four years old and desperately trying to rectify the mistakes of her youth by auditioning for her dream school: Diabla South.~Aka the Step Up: High Water AU that nobody asked for.
Relationships: Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Diabla South

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched Step Up: High Water then I strongly suggest you sign up for your free month of YouTube Premium and get streaming, Baby. Collette Jones is just... Wow. So, here we have the very slight age gap fic I swore I'd never write (it's eight years and really, Quinn's twenty-four, it's fine). 
> 
> I've borrowed a couple of lines of dialogue and one dance scene from the series, if you'd like to watch it (you really should) it's Season 2 Episode 4 and you can skip to 12:12. You can thank me in the comments. 
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to Naya Rivera. Rest in Peace and Power, Naya. We miss you, we love you and we'll honour your legacy for the rest of our lives.

  


On the corner of Baronne and Lafayette in New Orleans’ Warehouse District stood an old, redbrick five-storey building. It is home to Diabla South, the most cutthroat and highly-regarded performing arts school below the Mason-Dixon line. 

A programme developed for underprivileged artists, the students ranged from ages eighteen and up - with no upper cut-off. If you could perform, you could perform; it didn’t matter if you were twenty-two or eighty-two, if you managed to jump through the multiple-hoops of auditioning successfully, you were in. 

In an airy corner office on the second floor, the Principal of Diabla South sat at her desk typing away on a laptop, papers neatly organised in front of her and reading classes perched on her nose. 

A gold plaque denoted her identity for the sake of visitors – there wasn’t a student in the school that didn’t already know who she was – Principal Santana Lopez. 

The thirty-two-year-old was incomparably beautiful with alluring dark features and curves sculpted by Gods. The phenomenon didn’t stop with her looks, though; Santana was the youngest person, and the only woman of colour, to sit on the National Board of Education and Rehabilitation in the Performing Arts; she had been invited to a luncheon at the White House; and she had appeared in multiple world tours and music videos. 

It was safe to say she’d made her parents proud. 

The final auditions for the Fall Semester started tomorrow and Santana was busy signing off on timetables and reading admissions essays. Of the thousands of applicants, only fifty or so actually made it to this stage in the process and Santana always ensured to familiarise herself with each one. It was she that made the final decision on which twenty-five from that fifty got a place in her school and so she had to be informed. 

Finishing up for the day, Santana tidied away what little mess she had made and swapped her reading glasses for sunglasses. Her heels clacked on the vinyl flooring as she exited the school, shrugging on a long-tailored blazer over her perfectly fitted pencil skirt and blouse. 

Tomorrow would bring the start of the school year and the madness that always accompanied it. She couldn’t wait to meet all the bright new talent and whatever challenges this year would bring. Tonight, however, she would enjoy the peace of a glass of wine in the last of the summer’s evening breezes and lull herself to sleep with the company of a good book. 

~ 

Across town, Quinn Fabray was starting a shift at a small hole-in-the-wall Jazz bar. Her platinum blonde hair was tied tightly in a low bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a simple black cocktail dress, as required by the establishment. 

It was a usual night for her; serve friendly regulars; flirt with sleazy business men to milk as many tips as she can; and exchange good-humoured banter with her colleagues. Quinn was the owner's favourite – they always make the most money on evenings she works – and, after overhearing her singing to herself during clean-up one night, they’ve come to the arrangement she can perform one song per shift for additional tips. 

Tonight, she sings a cover of Bonnie Raitt’s ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ and all eyes are on her as her husky tones wash over the small room and spill out onto the cobbled street beyond. For her efforts (and natural talent) she’s rewarded with an additional fifty dollars on top of her normal tips. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but it pays to keep her car running and her belly full. 

When the night is over and the last of the wine drunk customers have stumbled their way through the old wooden doors, Quinn waves her co-workers home, offering to take responsibility for lock-up and cleaning. 

It doesn't take her long, the place only has a max capacity of fifteen, with a short bar along one wall and a number of two to three capacity tables sprinkled throughout the remaining space. The rest of the room is filled with the small stage she performs on and where a live musician plays each night. 

Once having finished her duties, she changes into leggings and a hoody, turning off all the lights but one and making use of the empty space to practice the monologue she had to perform tomorrow in her final audition for Diabla South - the reason she was in New Orleans to begin with. 

Having made it down to the final fifty hopefuls, tomorrow was a make it or break it day for Quinn; she would have to perform her chosen monologue in front of the schools Founder and Principal, Santana Lopez. If she managed to impress Ms. Lopez, she got a place at her dream school, and if not, well, she hadn’t really prepared for that scenario just yet. 

It was two in morning when she finally packed it in and made her way to her car parked out back. 

~ 

The large dance studio was filled with prospective students, faces tight with nerves and hopes high. By the end of the day half of them would be enrolled at Diabla South and half of them would be sent home empty-handed. You could practically feel the competition swirling in the air, as though if you took a breath a rage and envy would suddenly possess you. 

Quinn Fabray was relatively unphased by this negative energy. She had her high-pony out in full force and she knew her high cheekbones and chiselled jaw set her apart visually from the group. Pretty privilege was something she was extremely familiar with, even if financial privilege was not. 

A hush rolled across the studio indicating the entrance of faculty. Brittany S. Pierce skipped in first, each step full of pep and unadulterated joy. Ms. Pierce was Head of the Dance programme at Diabla South and renowned for her appearances in every Billie Eilish music video. Mercedes Jones came next, a popstar in her own right, the diva was the Head of Vocals and worked closely alongside producer Tina Cohen-Chang, who followed her in, to develop the school's prospective musical talent. The Director of Acting, Artie Abrahams wheeled himself in next. 

It was bizarre, Quinn thought, that no one was applauding or making a single sound, yet the room was so filled with awe she wouldn’t be surprised if the walls started to crack and the roof popped off. 

Outside in the corridor, Santana Lopez watched her colleagues (and friends) enter the studio where the prospective future of her school was waiting. The one-by-one walk-in was a tradition they had inadvertently created a while back, when they each had been running various levels of late to the auditions and ended up passing it off for a grand entrance moment (much to their own amusement). 

Chuckling to herself, Santana adjusted her skin tight dress and flipped her long brunette hair over one shoulder. 

Showtime. 

The door swung open and every pair of eyes in the room followed toned tanned legs and divine curves up over perfectly plump lips and soulful eyes. She was captivating and she knew it. 

Hazel eyes blinked a few times, bringing Quinn back to reality from the mesmerising woman at the front. The blonde needed to remember Santana Lopez was just a woman like any other (even if she did look like she’d strolled right out of Quinn’s fantasies), it was the only way she could harness her nerves and perform successfully. Ms. Lopez may be impressive but so was Quinn and her job today was to prove that. 

“Hello everyone. Thank you so much for coming out today and being so open with your craft and your art these past few weeks. Regardless of if you make it through, we are so thankful to have shared in even a second of your talent and we wish you the best of luck with your journey from here.” The Principal’s voice was low and enchanting. “With that being said, let me introduce myself. I am Santana Lopez- but please, call me Santana, no Ms. Lopez’s- and I am the Founder and Principal of Diabla South. This school is my baby and I expect nothing but the best to be walking its halls. I have read all your applications and heard great things from my colleagues about your abilities. Today will be your first and only opportunity to prove to me that you deserve a place at my school, so please don’t hold back.” 

Santana nodded at a member of administrative staff and the first name was called. Each performer had chosen either a song, a monologue or a dance, no longer than three minutes in length, to showcase their talents. They had to perform in front of the entire room and at the end of the day, once everyone had performed, the faculty would leave to determine the final results before coming back in and breaking the news. 

It was a long, exhausting day by anyone's standards. The performance order had been randomly generated prior to the session and once your name was called it was imperative you performed immediately to keep the flow of the audition. Even if there hadn’t been a single pause between each three-minute piece, the whole thing would have taken two-and-a-half hours, however, adding in time to cue music and for each artist to get into position, the process usually ended up around the four-hour mark. 

Thankfully, Quinn found her name being called quite early on in the day. Her confidence had begun to waiver the more performances she had been forced to watch and she wasn’t sure her nerves would last four hours. She executed the monologue exactly how she had intended and felt relief flood through her. As she made her way back to her seat, her eyes briefly connected with the intense gaze of Santana’s and she threw a timid smile across the room – surely attracting the founder’s attention like that could only be a good thing, right? 

After three more painstaking hours of talented actors, singers and dancers showing off exactly what got them this far in the process in the first place, the auditions were finally over and the five members of faculty left the room to make their decisions. 

The moment the door shut behind them, the auditionees all started chatting at once, congratulating one another and nervously asking questions about their own performances. Quinn chose not to buy into the whole post-audition speculation as she found it a little trite and superficial; however, she did start up a quiet conversation with brilliant dancer named Mike Chang that just happened to have been sat in her vicinity. 

“Have you been in New Orleans long?” Clearly, Mike was also avoiding audition talk. 

“Only for the past month, just before the first round of auditions... You?” 

“Yeah, same. My Uncle lives in Baton Rouge, so I’ve just been commuting down when needed. I really like it here, though, it’s so different from Chicago- that's where I’m from.” 

Quinn offered him a tight smile, not really wanting to get into the details of her life with a stranger who she might never see beyond the next few minutes, “Me too. It’s such a vibrant city. Makes you want to live a little louder.” 

Mike grinned at that and nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

The pair chatted for a few more minutes before being interrupted by the return of the staff members. The eerie silence that had filled the room at the start of the day immediately fell back into place and the buzz of anticipation became so thick the air felt like a solid being forced down Quinn’s throat. 

Santana cleared her throat. This was the least favourite part of her job - crushing people’s dream of attending her school. On-the-other-hand it also gave her an immense sense of power she had worked hard on during her life to yield for good, rather than evil like she did in high school. “You are all very talented and this year's decision, as always, was extremely difficult. If I call your name, please stand up.” 

The half-Latina slowly reeled off a list of names and Quinn’s heart dropped lower and lower in her chest as each one wasn’t hers. Mike was still sitting too and she felt him reach for her hand and grip it tightly, both clammy but neither minding. 

Santana stopped speaking as the list came to an end and Quinn thought she might throw-up, squeezing her eyelids shut to hold in the tears. 

“If you are standing, thank you for your time but unfortunately you have not been chosen, please collect your belongings and exit.” 

Mike was tugging on her hand now and she opened her eyes to look over at where he was practically levitating off the floor with excitement. All around her, as the room cleared of those that had been standing, the remaining twenty-five were starting to come to terms with what had just happened. 

“To those of you remaining, congratulations! You have proven to be the best prospects from thousands and I am more than thrilled that you can now officially call yourselves students at Diabla South.” Santana was beaming and Brittany jumped up and started clapping, spinning her way amongst the auditionees and pulling them to their feet. 

“You can relax now!” She giggled and Quinn’s tears trickled over her grin. 

~ 

Quinn had been a student at Diabla South for two weeks and four days when she was called into Santana’s office. The Principal didn’t actually take any classes, so their paths hadn’t crossed since the day of the final audition and Quinn couldn’t for the life of her think of a reason she would need to be seen. 

The past few weeks had been some of the best of the blonde’s entire life. She and Mike had become fast friends, along with a talented actress named Sugar Motta and another dancer, Matt Rutherford. The four ate their lunches together when their schedules allowed and Sugar had managed to convince them all to crash at her tiny studio apartment one night, where they consumed way too much cheap wine from a box and Matt had puked in Mike’s favourite hat. 

The memory tickled her as she strolled to the corner office on the second floor, tugging on the cropped t-shirt she wore over a sports bra and an old cheerleading skirt (it was hot and she had dance class that day!). She knocked gently and waited a second until she heard a ‘Come in’ from inside before peeking her head through the door. 

“Quinn! Hi, thanks for coming. Please have a seat.” 

Today, Santana was wearing another one of her signature pencil skirt and blouse combos, and she smiled softly at Quinn from behind her desk, gesturing to the chair opposite her. 

Quinn made her way to the aforementioned chair and gracefully sat, back straight and head cocked. A piece of her hair fell forward on her face and she reached pale fingers up to tuck it behind her ear. 

Santana leant forward slightly, hands clasped and elbows resting on the hard wood of her desk, studying the woman in front of her intently. She had, of course, read the blonde’s admissions essay – it wasn’t an easy read to say the least, and she felt her heart race at the thought of what the twenty-four-year-old had already gone through in her short life, an innate desire to protect her from further harm growling in the tanned woman’s chest. 

She slid the glasses from the brow of her nose and placed them atop her closed laptop. “How are you finding it so far? Are your classes going well?” 

Dark eyes watched as a pale nose scrunched minutely, a tell that she was frustrated Santana hadn’t got straight to the point of the meeting. 

“Yes, thank you. I love it here and I am extremely grateful to you for the opportunity.” 

“You earnt your place, Quinn, there is no need to thank me.” Quinn’s cheeks reddened at that and she ducked her head in modesty. To be complimented by Santana Lopez apparently meant more to her than she imagined it would. “Now, I just need to check over a couple of details we have for you, is that okay?” The blonde nodded, eyeing the folder labelled with her name carefully held by sure hands. “Perfect. So, we have you address down here as 2731 Orleans Ave, New Orleans, LA 70119, is that correct?” Another nod. “Great, great. So, for some reason all the mail the school has sent there for you...Your acceptance letter and school contract, you know? It’s been stamped return to sender and we’ve received it back.” 

Santana watched as Quinn sucked in her cheeks, hollowing them for the briefest moment, before her expression adjusted neutrally. “That’s weird- I don’t get much mail, though, and I only just moved in a month or so ago, so I suspect it’s just an administrative error on my landlord’s end.” 

Something about the students reasoning didn’t sit quite right with Santana but she could sense that Quinn’s tone was final and so she shut the folder, placing it down and crossing her arms on top of it. “Okay. That’s great. Thank you for clearing that up for me.” 

“...I can just take those letters now, save the second postage.” 

Narrowing her eyes at the student, Santana took her in. She wasn’t naïve to the fact that Quinn was a fiercely beautiful woman: with a jaw line that could cut glass outlining a perfectly symmetrical pout; earnest hazel eyes; a nose so immaculate Santana wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been surgically designed; strong thighs and hips to match; and blonde tousled locks, each hair appearing to have been precisely positioned to enhance the gorgeous face. 

Quinn shifted in her seat under the intense gaze and Santana’s eyes fell away. “Not a problem, here we go.” She stood up and walked around her desk, leaning on it beside the other woman and passing her the forms. “Listen, Quinn- I know getting into Diabla South means a lot. I know y’all are constantly trying to impress us and work your hardest... But we can help with other stuff too, okay? Like, if things get hard or you run into some trouble. We want to help with that.” 

The blonde watched as Santana walked to her side, tilting her face back so she could maintain eye contact, eyes skating dangerously low to the enticing cleavage now closer than ever. “Mmhm.” She nodded, standing so their eyes were on an equal plain once more. “I’ll bear that in mind.” 

Quinn had no idea how she managed to find herself staring into deep brown eyes, or why they were staring back at her, but she was honestly too gripped by the moment to break it. A tightness pulled at her stomach and a familiar tingling sensation erupted deep within her. 

“Okay... Thank you, you may go.” It was Santana that broke the trance, distancing herself as she returned to her side of the desk, feeling a crawl of heat up her neck. 

Quinn left with a nod. 

A heavy exhale accompanied by a frown left the Principal and she dropped into her chair. What the hell was that? Bringing her hands up to press under her breasts, checking for evidence of the nervous boob sweat she could feel developing there. Thankfully it was damp free and she scoffed out loud at herself – a student had never affected her like that before, she was going to have to steer well clear of Quinn Fabray from here on out. 

~ 

A couple of weeks of later found Santana walking around the French Quarter in outrageously high heels at the side of a shorter brunette named Dani. This was their second date and Dani had suggested they go grab a couple of drinks in a bar just off Bourbon somewhere. 

It was a cute place that they approached, with a window that opened all the way along so the bar melded with the sidewalk and the music coming from inside escaped into the night. Apparently, Dani had been here a couple of times and it had a chill vibe – plus one of the bar staff was, according to Dani, ‘a knockout and a hell of a good singer’. 

Santana wasn’t sure if being taken by your date to a bar where she fancied one of the workers was really that good of a thing, but whatever, if there was tequila and jazz she would make do. 

Luckily, there was a table near the entrance available and Dani offered to go get them drinks whilst Santana took a seat. She let her eyes scan slowly over the establishment, partially taking it in and partially looking for the woman she apparently in competition with – not like she really deemed Dani and her to be heading anywhere serious enough to warrant competition anyway. 

Her date re-joined her, placing a margarita and a tequila shot in front of her with a small grin. 

“They said that Lucy would be on in a minute,” she gestured to the stage, “I thought shots might be in order first.” A wink was thrown her way and they each downed the clear liquid, Santana without a wince and Dani with a small shudder. 

“Sounds like you have a crush on this chick.” She teased flirtatiously, deciding the effort was probably worth it for the sex they were going to have tonight if things went her way. 

The scoff that she received in reply took her back a little and she cocked her head in question. “Everyone has a crush on Lucy. Trust me, you’ll understand when you see her... So, don’t worry, Babe, I’m all yours for the evening.” 

In fairness to Dani, she was giving as good as she got and Santana had to hand it to her. Maybe she shouldn’t write her off so fast after all. 

Just then a tall redheaded figure stepped out on stage and the half-Latina turned her attention to her along with the rest of the room. The girl wasn’t particularly breath-taking and Santana was almost disappointed by Dani’s standards. 

“Good evening, everyone. I’m here to introduce our next singer-” 

Oh. 

“-And the woman I know you’re all here to see. Please give a hand for Lucy Q.” 

After the incident in her office two weeks ago, Santana had all but wiped Quinn Fabray from her memory; however, she was pretty hard to forget now, as the blonde made her way up the single step to the stage in an elegant black cocktail dress and perched on the stool in the middle. 

“Hello. Thank you for coming out to see me tonight. This is one of my favourites- I hope you like it.” Quinn softly husked into the microphone and Santana glanced around to witness the entire bar falling in love with her. 

A familiar string intro started to play and the dark-haired woman gripped the stem of her margarita glass tighter as Quinn rasped the first few lines of Etta James’ ‘At Last’. 

She was honestly phenomenal. The entire room was enchanted. The woman knew how to make an audience love her, that was undeniable, her eyes flicked from person to person, letting them have their second in her Universe before moving onto the next. When they landed on Santana, hazel connected with dark brown for the second time in as many weeks and the tanned woman gripped her drink for dear life as the entire axis of her existence shift. 

Quinn afforded her moments longer than anyone else and by the time she finally looked away, Santana had almost snapped her glass in two. Tearing her gaze from the woman on stage, she turned her entire body towards Dani and downed the rest of her cocktail. 

The song was over soon after that and the blonde was gone from the stage before the applause had even ceased. 

“I think Lucy liked you.” 

Her revere was broken by Dani’s teasing and Santana forced out a chuckle, shaking her head in denial. “There’s no way she can even see more than silhouettes from up there.” 

“Well, she usually comes out to tend the bar after her song, so we could ask her.” 

Alarmed, Santana felt the crawl of heat on her neck, the same one that had plagued her in her office two weeks ago and she pushed her empty glass forward on the table. “Or, instead of that, we could go to my place and I can make us a couple more margaritas surrounded by a lot less people and a lot less clothing.” She took Dani’s hand on the wood and swirled a long finger round hers, “What d’you say?” 

Hours later, as she lay bare in bed next to a sleeping Dani, Santana silently cursed herself for the hazel eyes and pouted lips ghosting the inside of her eyelids. 

~ 

At the end of October, just before a midterm break, all Diabla South students were required to participate in a short showcase of whatever skill they believed to have improved most on thus far that semester. 

Quinn had chosen dance as it was the subject she came feeling least skilled in and it had definitely taken the most work on in the past six weeks. Brittany had choreographed an insane piece for the seven of them that had chosen dance (the rest of the cohort was split pretty evenly between acting and vocals) and had challenged them to embody the word ‘sexy’. The dance teacher had explained that they needed to let themselves be totally vulnerable and ‘let go’. 

Apparently, being vulnerable and letting go was not Quinn’s forte because the taller blonde had taken her aside after class and offered to choreograph her a special individual dance that didn’t involve being sexy. 

To say she had been insulted would be an understatement. She was mortified and had promised Brittany that if sexy was what she wanted, sexy was what Quinn would deliver. 

That was how she was in this current predicament, alone in the school on a Sunday night practicing being sexy and failing horrifically. She didn’t understand. She _was_ sexy. She knew that. She knew that when she sang or when she acted her audience would be infatuated with her. So, why couldn’t she translate that into dance? 

Trying a few more moves out, she was bent at the waist dragging her hands up one leg when she was interrupted by the sound of the door closing. Shooting up, she whipped round in surprise. 

“Hey.” Santana Lopez stood before her, arms crossed and a soft expression on her face. “You’ve got to pack up- I’m closing up shop.” 

Quinn didn’t have anywhere else to practice dance on the weekends when the bar didn’t shut until too late and she really needed to get it down before tomorrow. “Could I possible stay?” She took a step towards Santana, “I’ll use the security exit, I just really need to practice... I’m failing sexy bootcamp, apparently.” 

Smiling, the Principal looked down at the floor for a moment, “Yes, I have noticed that you’ve been spending a little more time here lately.” 

It took a second for Quinn to process that one. Santana had been noticing her? She thought for sure after the woman had bailed from the bar so fast after seeing her the other night, that she wasn’t even on her radar. 

“Yeah... Brittany kindly offered to make me a special ‘non-sexy’ dance for the showcase and I really can’t face that kind of humiliation. I don’t have anywhere else to practice, sorry.” She gestured to the small studio they were in. It was on the top floor and allowed for great views of the street if she ever needed a second to let the rest of the human races' existence calm her. 

Chuckling, Santana bowed her head to catch Quinn’s eyes, “Don’t apologise. That’s good... Just make sure the doors locked on your way out. Okay?” 

“Thank you, Santana. I really appreciate it.” 

The half-Latina turned to go, pushing open the door as Quinn started rehearsing again and she glanced back to watch for a couple of moments. God, she really shouldn’t be doing this- 

“You know, sexiness is all in the eyes...” She strolled back into the room and Quinn stopped what she was doing to watch as two chairs were laid out opposite one another but close, “A lot of people think that every other body part is sexy.” The woman approached the blonde, stilling only just before their bodies collided. Their eyes locked, “It’s all right here.” Santana murmured, holding the gaze intently until Quinn’s nervously flickered down. “Do you want to try something?” Dark head gestured to the chairs she’d just placed out. 

Mutely, the blonde nodded her head, her voice cracking as she forced words out, “Sure. Why not?” She tried to keep her tone casual, as though she wasn’t utterly and completely turned on by her Principal. 

The older woman smiled at her gently and they both took a seat. Quinn started to perform some of the dance Brittany had choreographed, stopping after a few beats and releasing an embarrassed laugh, nervously glancing over at the woman. 

“Hey, no, it’s good! But I think that you’re giving a performance- and performances are for everyone else... Sexiness is for you... It’s all about you, it’s all about trusting yourself. It’s the only way to live.” Santana shrugged her shoulders as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “Look, it’s like this-” She moved her hair over one shoulder and crossed her legs to the side, “-I want you to follow my lead, okay?” 

And then they were dancing. 

Quinn mimicked Santana’s movements as she ran her hand down her own leg, their eyes once again glued to one-another's. Santana flipped her head round, gorgeous locks spilling over her face and Quinn followed. Their eyes found each other's again as they brought their hands up their legs, then quickly pushed them open wide then shut again to towards the other side. The dance moved them to standing, bent over the chair, hands keeping them steady as they arched and dropped their backs, rotating their hips. 

The dance then required Quinn to sit back down and bring her legs up. She expected Santana to do the same, except she didn’t. Instead, the woman made her way round behind the blonde’s chair and delicately took hold of her raised legs, helping Quinn lengthen the stretch as she brought one down leg down and then pushed it swiftly so she had the momentum to roll off the chair as her legs closed. 

Her heart was beating so wildly, she was sure the woman could hear it from where she was stood. But Santana’s was too preoccupied with how her own chest was rising and falling heavily, slightly out of breath. 

The next move brought Quinn back on the chair and her hands to her own waist. She felt Santana’s join them there from her position behind her and pale skin lit up as warm tanned hands ran up her body and helped her remove her thin vest, which she threw across the room. She slammed her eyes shut for the final two small gestures of the dance and when she reopened them the ruffled hair and flushed face of Santana was crouched beside her, so close Quinn could have closed the gap between their lips if she’d just moved her body the tiniest bit- 

“Good! That was good.” Santana jumped up, “I think that you’re getting it... Listen, um, I’ll leave the door to my office unlocked if you need to rest your head there tonight.” She was at the door now, hovering in the entrance. 

Quinn remained frozen in her seat, unsure what she should do. She knew as sure as fuck that what she really _wanted_ to do was the older woman retreating as fast as she possibly could. “Oh, okay, thank you then.” 

“No problem.” 

“Santana, I-” She didn’t even know where she was going with that but it didn’t matter anyway, Santana was gone. 

~ 

The Principal arrived at the school the next day nursing a killer hangover. After she had fled the scene last night, she had gone home and drowned her arousal in a bottle of red and a collection of top-shelf whiskey miniatures Artie had gifted her for Christmas the previous year. She had been saving them for a special occasion, but she figured almost kissing one of her students – almost _initiating_ a kiss with one of her students – was justification enough. 

She’s not sure how she could have been so stupid. It was like she’d been transported back to high school and had little to no self-restraint or control over her raging hormones. And yes, technically Quinn was an adult (she was twenty-four!) and was clearly more that consenting to the almost-kiss, but she was still enrolled at the school Santana owned and actively presided over. The total legality of it aside, she just didn’t want to be one of those sleazy faculty members that got caught with their student's head between their legs. 

In the words of Bill Clinton, ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman’ and that’s how it needed to stay. 

Even if Quinn was the most beautiful person Santana had ever laid eyes on. Even if when she sang, the brunette’s heart melted in her chest and a warmth radiated from the centre of her being. Even if one look from hazel-eyes had every nerve alight and a pulsing she’d never admit to in her lower regions. 

Adorned with huge sunglasses and a baseball cap, Santana stumbled into her office. She had purposefully been late today, it was about twenty minutes after classes were meant to have started, but she didn’t want to run the risk of finding Quinn still asleep on her couch. 

Fate, however, had other plans. 

There, sleeping peacefully curled up in the foetal position, was Quinn Fabray. She’d changed clothes from the last time Santana had seen her, having lost the dance gear and opted for an all-red sweatsuit with the word ‘Cheerios’ plastered across the front. 

The older woman sighed heavily, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her and leaning back against it for a moment to consider her next move. There was a duffel of Quinn’s belongings by her feet and Santana couldn’t help but notice how it was a little too full to be a normal rehearsal bag. There were toiletries peeking out and, when the half-Latina nudged it open a crack more, what looked to be the blonde’s entire wardrobe neatly folded inside. 

“What are you doing?” 

Quinn’s voice startled her and she jumped back in surprise, almost toppling backwards on her stilettos. “Um- I thought you’d be gone by now.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” The blur of red and platinum was up and grabbing her bag, zipping it closed before Santana could object. 

“No, Quinn, please.” Tanned fingers pinched at the bridge of her nose, nausea rising as she tried to regulate her breath. She should not have drunk that second or third bottle. “I didn’t mean it like that-... I'm glad you were able to rest here, you look like you needed it.” 

It was the wrong thing to say and Quinn scoffed loudly, “Thanks so much, Ms. Lopez.” She was obviously angry and Santana’s heart dropped, she was not doing a good job here. 

“I want to help you, Quinn.” The Principal’s tone was soft and warm and caring and Quinn spun around, halting her dash around Santana to the door. 

There was a fire in her eyes and a sneer on her lips, “Do you, Santana? Because last night it seemed like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough... I’m not some troubled student that needs you to fix all their problems for them, okay? I’d appreciate it if you kept your nose out of my business.” 

Quinn had crossed so many lines of professionalism that she couldn’t bear to stay around to find out the consequence of her actions and she ran from the room before Santana could get a word out. The blonde was angry: angry that Santana had runaway last night; angry at herself for stupidly oversleeping; angry that the woman had invaded her privacy; angry that the care in her tone was so reassuring that Quinn found herself wanting to dissolve away into it forever. 

There was no way she was sticking around the school for the rest of the day knowing she could be called into Santana’s office at any time and be expelled or lectured, or worse have to listen to the woman be _concerned_ for her when Quinn was sure she wasn't in the mental place to be able to resist falling into her arms and admitting all her secrets. 

Scrambling into her car, she shoved her belongings in the passenger seat and hit the wheel in frustration, leaning her head on it as she let the tears fall. 

~ 

For Santana, the rest of the day consisted of avoiding her friends and attempting to locate the woman who had fled her office. 

It was true, Quinn shouldn’t have spoken to her the way she did - but then, Santana shouldn’t have almost kissed her, runaway and then looked through her bag, so they could call it even. What she was more concerned about right now was the fact the contents of Quinn’s closet had been in a duffel bag on her office floor two hours ago and now the blonde was nowhere to be found. 

She’d checked all of Quinn’s classes but it seemed as though she wasn’t attending today – not surprising given the circumstances – and none of her friends had heard from her since the previous day. 

From its initial conception, Santana had wanted Diabla South to not only be a school where struggling artists got the step-up they couldn’t otherwise afford, but also to be a place where they could share their problems and get help in every aspect of their lives. She even required every student to participate in a minimum of six counselling session with an in-house therapist. They were crafting fully-formed human-beings who were well equipped to enter an industry full of rejection and very little financial reward. 

It was clear she was failing Quinn in this aspect. 

By the end of the day, she was still no closer to finding the blonde. The number they had for her was a cellphone and it just rang out every time she called, none of her friends could get through to her either and weirdly, none of them knew where she lived, claiming Quinn never spoke about herself much. 

Santana couldn’t just sit around and hope she’d turn up at school tomorrow. No. This caused for slightly more drastic measures. So, she drove to the address she’d checked with Quinn just over a month prior. Despite the additional investment of whatever was happening between them, the Principal really would have done the same for any other student; she was actually known for once driving thirteen hours straight so a student wouldn’t miss a funeral after their flight had been cancelled. 

Arriving at the small partitioned property not too far from the school, Santana parked up and got out, confidently striding to the door and rapping the wood. 

It was opened by a very skinny, balding man in a greased stained t-shirt and khaki shorts with a bizarre pattern shaved into his beard. 

“Good afternoon. Sorry to bother you, I’m looking for Quinn Fabray...?” 

The man leered at her across the threshold, shrugging non-committedly. “Well, she doesn’t live here, Darlin’... Though, come to think of it, I have been getting a lot of her mail recently.” 

Santana’s jaw clenched. Just as she thought, Quinn had provided the school with a fake address on her enrolment forms. “Okay. Thank you for time.” 

“Don’t you wanna come in, Sugar? Maybe your friend is hiding under my bed.” He had a thick southern drawl, beady little eyes and a patriarchal-entitlement that made Santana thank the lord she was a lesbian. 

“Sorry... I only fuck above a certain IQ level.” With that she turned on her heels and marched back to her car, hearing curses and the door slam behind her. 

The only place she had left to try was the bar Dani had taken her to a few weeks ago. The bar Santana knew Quinn worked at sometimes. Maybe someone there could tell her where Quinn was or where she lived. 

She parked in a lot a few blocks down and walked the rest of the distance. The bar had just opened for the evening and there was only a couple of patrons sipping an after-work drink – it was only Monday after all. 

Behind the bar, Santana spotted the redhead who she recognised as having introduced Quinn the other night and she made her way towards her with purpose. “Hi, there. I was wondering if you could help me? I’m looking for Quinn Fabray.” 

The redhead looked her up and down suspiciously. This wasn’t the first time someone had come in looking for Lucy, but they usually never knew her real name. 

“Oh, yeah? And who’s asking?” 

It was reassuring that Quinn’s colleague didn’t just give out her personal information without questioning her first and Santana couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a friend... We attend the same performing arts school downtown- she didn’t show up for class today and she’s not picking up her cell. I’m really worried about her.” It was a half-truth, but the dark-haired woman wasn’t really prepared to admit any more than that. 

The redhead rolled her eyes at that, placing the glass she was cleaning down on the counter and letting out a heavy sigh through her nose. 

“Look, Quinn’s not working today, but I’m pretty sure I saw her car parked out back if you wanted to wait for her there. It’s the white Honda Accord, looks like it rolled straight in from the 90’s- a total piece of shit, you can’t miss it.” 

Santana’s smile thinned and eyes narrowed, “Thanks.” 

The parking lot was accessible via an alley a few metres down the street and only housed six cars. Quinn’s wasn’t hard to spot, the redhead hadn’t been exaggerating, the car looked to be on its last legs. 

Strolling over to it, Santana hovered beside the bonnet before deciding to peer in. Ultimately, it was snooping that had got her here in the first place, but she was worried and needed to clear up her suspicions. 

Blocking the sun’s reflection with her hands, she pressed her face close to the class and, sure enough, there was the evidence she had been sure she would find. A neatly folded sleeping bag lay atop a pillow on the backseat, the debris of Quinn’s life in the footwells roughly covered by a dark blanket. 

Straightening up, she returned to the front of the car and rested lightly against it, crossing her arms and settling in for the long-haul. 

It turns out she needn’t have as, after only ten minutes or so of waiting, Quinn Fabray was stood stock-still across the lot looking at her. Santana righted herself and shrugged her shoulders with a small shake of her head. 

“You live in your car.” 

“Yes.” 

“Quinn-” 

“-Don’t, Santana! I don’t want to hear it.” The blonde had approached her now, “I don’t want your sympathy and I sure as hell don’t want your help.” 

“You know what? No.” Santana had officially had enough. “No, Quinn, enough... This reaction was justified this morning but now it’s just plain idiotic. Do you want to live in your car? Is that what makes you happy? No? Yeah, I didn’t think so. And you know what, as the person that is currently sponsoring your career, I’d go as far to say it’s ridiculously stupid of you to jeopardise your safety and your talent like this... So, you can be mad at me for what happened last night and you can never speak to me again if that’s what you need to do- but I’m not going to sit by and let you put yourself in danger.” 

Her impassioned speech surprised Quinn and the blonde didn’t reply, she just stood there, blinking her big hazel eyes dumbly in Santana’s direction. 

Stepping forward, the older woman reached for her phone, “I’m sending my address to the cellphone number you provided the school on your enrolment form. I assume it’s correct?” Quinn nodded. “Great. I’m parked around the block, but you can meet me there. There are guest spots in the parking garage, just tell the attendant you’re visiting one-six-three. Okay?” Another nod. “I expect you to be there, Quinn. Please don’t disappoint me.” 

Then she was gone, stalking away down the sidewalk as though it was a catwalk crafted solely for her. 

~ 

Santana Lopez was a wealthy woman. Logically, Quinn knew she had been aware of this fact from day one – you didn’t own and run a school like Diabla South without making some good financial decisions along the way – but it still took her by surprise when she pulled into the massive underground parking lot situated beneath one of the newest built apartment blocks on the river. 

The older woman was waiting for her, arms crossed and an expression Quinn couldn’t read partially distorted by massive sunglasses. She didn’t say anything as the blonde exited her car and Quinn wasn’t about to make an assumption and bring any of her belongings with her, so she just locked the door. 

Santana pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and so visibly rolled her eyes that Quinn almost laughed. Almost. 

“You’re staying here tonight, Quinn, bring whatever you need.” 

The blonde flushed and quickly pulled her duffel from the trunk, following a few steps behind the woman as they made their way to an elevator. There was an awkward interval as they waited for it to descend to their level, Quinn’s hand fidgeting on the handle of her bag nervously. 

Why was Santana doing this for her? And why was Quinn allowing it? 

The awkward silence was heightened tremendously as they entered the elevator and the tanned woman swiped her fob and pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. The top floor. Droll music played through the intercom, mocking them. 

“Are you uncomfortable with staying in my home? Or being around me?” Santana broke the silence. She was stood as far from Quinn as she could possibly get in the small box, arms crossed over one another tightly and head cocked in question. “I would understand if you were and I won’t be offended if you’d prefer us to make other arrangements for you tonight.” 

It was almost as though the thought had only just occurred to Santana that given their latest interaction, this might not be the most suitable course of action. 

Quinn thought about it for a moment. Did Santana make her uncomfortable? Yes. But not for reasons she knew the woman was referring. She didn’t feel pressured or taken advantage of, it wasn’t like Santana had even made any moves, really. Plus, Quinn was twenty-four years old; she was more than capable of making her own choices. A quick Wikipedia search a few weeks back had confirmed to her that the Principal was thirty-two and an eight-year age difference was nothing in the grand scheme of life. So, did she have a problem staying in the woman’s home? Absolutely not. Was she concerned she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from making a move on the older woman? Absolutely. 

She settled for as honest an answer as she could. “It’s not you I’m worried about.” 

Santana’s eyebrows raised and Quinn could have sworn she saw a smirk flit across her face for a split second. “I see.” 

Nothing more was said between them as they made their way to the apartment. It was a keypad lock and Santana didn’t blink twice before revealing the number to Quinn ‘just in case she needed to go out for some reason’. Behind the large white door was the nicest home the blonde had ever been in. It was all grey-brown hardwood floors, floor to ceiling windows and sleek lines of black and white. The ultimate mixture of high-end class and country chic. 

Despite its hard lines and cool colours, the apartment emanated an incredibly homely feel with comfy sofas and chairs and Santana’s personal touches: pictures of the woman with - who Quinn assumed were - her friends and family; casual quilt throws; flowers on the dining table; and shelves filled with books, CDs, DVDs, vinyl records and VHS and cassette tapes. Clearly Santana kept it old school. 

The woman in question led them in, placing her purse on the sideboard near the door and walking into the main living area. It was all pretty open plan beside for a corridor off one side that had a few doors coming off it. 

“Please, make yourself at home,” Santana announced as she meandered through the space, gesturing around her, “this is the guest bedroom-... You've got your own bathroom in there.” Opening the door to one of the rooms, she stepped back to let Quinn enter. 

“I’m just going to clean up and then I’ll start on dinner. I’m afraid I’m not the best cook in the world- honestly, I usually just get takeout- but as you’re a guest, I _suppose_ I’ll make an effort.” Her face crinkled in gest and she winked good-humouredly. 

As she was leaving, turning to enter her own room at the end of the hall, Quinn grabbed for her hand, gripping it softly for a second, “Thank you, Santana.” Their eyes held for a moment before the blonde looked away, not trusting herself to keep the contact innocent for much longer. 

After Quinn had washed up and changed, she went out into the living room to wait for her host. She hadn’t said much since being thoroughly admonished in the parking lot earlier and she really needed to step up her game as an actual functioning human being. She may be homeless – and Santana may know about it now – but that didn’t mean she wasn’t the same person that she was two nights ago in the dance studio. 

Logically, she knew it would be a bad idea to try and pursue whatever was going on between her and her Principal. It could only end badly for the both of them. What would people think? Would they think she was trying to sleep her way to the top? Would it damage Santana’s (and the school’s) reputation? Was Santana even interested in her past her external features? Was Santana even gay? 

A tornado of questions swirled around her head and she leant her head back on the couch, shutting her eyes for second. 

“Tired?” 

The older woman padded her way into the room, barefoot and the most dressed down Quinn had ever seen her, in a matching cotton loungewear set that hugged her curves in all the right places. The blonde instinctively tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a shiver shooting through her. 

It didn’t go unnoticed and dark eyes flicked from abused lip to hazel as she passed by the couch on her way to the kitchen area. Quinn’ whole body turned to admire the sight of the woman walking away from her, eyes lingering lower than they should have. It took every morsel of self-restraint she had not to jump up and grab the woman from behind and pull her back into her body. 

“A little. Can I help?” Her voice cracked as she watched the woman from her place on the couch. Santana was busing herself in the kitchen, bending to fetch things from the fridge and reaching up in her cupboards, exposing a slice of tempting tanned abdomen. 

She hummed and beckoned Quinn over, “Can you cook? My skills are limited to omelettes and salads.” 

“Well...” The student approached, “Lucky for you, I happen to be pretty talented in the kitchen.” 

With ease, Quinn put together a simple ratatouille with the ingredients Santana had in and they ate in comfortable silence. The blonde knew the older woman was giving her space – physical and emotional – as she always made sure to stand at least a metre away from her and didn’t bother her with any intrusive questions. 

They went their separate ways that evening with a brief wave and, once she was alone locked in her room, Quinn guiltily released the tension that had been building in her loins all night. 

Little did she know, in the room across the hall, Santana was doing the same. 

~ 

Santana barely saw Quinn for the rest of the week. The younger woman was busy with school and work, so they crossed paths briefly in the mornings and then Santana was asleep (or in her room pretending to be) by the time Quinn got back in the dead of night. 

The initial one-night stay turned into four and by the time Friday came around, the Principal had to call Quinn into her office during lunch just so they could get a chance to talk about it. 

“Thank you for coming in- I'm sorry I didn’t catch you this morning, I had to get here early for a meeting and I assumed you wouldn’t want to be woken so early given the crazy hour you got in last night.” 

The blonde smiled appreciatively and joined Santana on the couch where she was perched rather than her usual spot behind her desk. The dark-haired woman had thought it best to set a less serious tone to the meeting – she wanted Quinn to see her as a friend who was willing to help her out of a tight spot, not just the Principal of the school she attend. The woman _was_ staying at her home, after all. 

Noting the distance left between them, Santana slid forward, closing the gap a little, their knees just touching. “Quinn, I’d like to offer you my guest room on a more permanent basis...” Her head was tilted down so she could catch the younger woman’s eye. “I’ve been looking at various options for you this week and it seems that anything I can do might take at least a few weeks- maybe even a month or so- to fall into place. In the meantime, I don’t see any reason why my guest room shouldn’t be used for its intended purpose.” 

Quinn was eyeing Santana suspiciously, clenching her jaw in thought and fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “Did you read my admissions essay?” 

Okay. Not the reply the older woman had expected. “I did.” 

“And you still want me to stay?” 

“Yes. Absolutely. Quinn, you received a place at this school _because_ of the contents of that essay, not despite them.” 

The younger woman stood up suddenly, pacing across the room, hands wringing, “I _have_ been trying to save to get a place- it's just hard, you know? After food and car stuff, and all this debt I have from my medical bills. I don’t want anyone to think I’m receiving any charity, or that I’m not trying my ha-” 

“-Hey, hey. Quinn. Stop, okay? Listen to me... I am asking you to stay with me as my guest- as a friend. It’s not charity and you’re under no obligation to tell anyone your personal circumstances.” Santana was across the room now, taking pale hands firmly in tanned ones and stopping the rambling before it could go any further. 

Shutting her eyes, Quinn took a long in-breath through her nose, releasing it slowly, “One more month max. Then I’m out of your hair, no questions asked.” 

As if Santana was going to let a student at her school, or anyone she knew and cared for (although that was a whole other kettle of fish), walk away no questions asked when they were in a bind. But apparently it was what Quinn needed to hear and Santana was a woman of her word, “No questions asked.” 

The blonde’s face lit up with a grateful smile. “I’m going to hug you now. Is that okay?” Santana couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head in humour and rolling her eyes as she pulled the woman into a hug. 

Quinn was soft and warm and smelt like heaven. Their bodies pressed together, the swell of the Latina’s enhanced chest grazing Quinn’s deliciously. The familiar heat crept its way back up her neck and she slowly pulled away, sure the flush of her cheeks would be obvious. 

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

Their arms were still loosely holding the other as Santana murmured the words halfway through untangling herself, eyes on hazel. They flickered down once, twice and then Quinn’s lips were on hers. 

It was soft. Innocent. And oh-so fleeting. The older woman’s lips had barely moved in reaction when soft pink vanished and when she’d open her eyes the blonde was all but gone, the door swinging shut behind her. 

~ 

Quinn spent the rest of the day completely freaking out. It was the final day before the mid-semester break and she had to perform her dance in the showcase. The whole of her cohort would be watching along with all the faculty. 

Meaning Santana. 

Santana her Principal (God, it sounded wrong when she thought about it like that, but really, they were both adults for Christ's sake). Santana whose home she was living in. Santana who appeared to care for her. Santana who was literally the most alluring human on the planet. Santana who she’d kissed. 

Did she regret it? No... Maybe. It was probably more the fact she’d runaway after like an absolute coward that she regretted. 

And now here she was, dressed in a barely-there bra, mini skirt and stockings held up by lace garters. It was Brittany’s idea of sexy and Quinn had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. She looked hot. Her blonde hair was curled and smoky make-up completed to perfection. She admired herself in the mirror; even the web of thin white scars that marred her abdomen and back didn’t make her think otherwise (as they were normally prone to). 

Thankfully, the stage lights were too blinding for Quinn to actually make out any of the audience members. It was a relief, as after seeing the improvements the blonde had made in the past week with the dance, Brittany had been so impressed that she’d placed Quinn dead centre in the line-up. 

So, as Toxic by Britney Spears blasted through the speakers, Quinn manipulated her body in the way she had learnt how - that Santana had helped her to find - oozing sex and desire front and centre for everyone to see. 

If Quinn could have seen the audience, she would have seen how Santana sat rigid in her chair, fingers gripping plastic armrests so tightly she should have been worried it would snap and jaw clenched shut making her face muscles protruded against her tanned skin. Her legs were crossed firmly shut and she was thanking the God’s she’d worn panties today – sometimes she didn’t, sue her – to catch the pooling of hot, wet arousal. 

The performance was over before she knew it and she hastily joined the rest of the auditorium in a round of applause, glancing to see if anyone had been watching her. Luckily, Quinn had managed to entrance every living soul in the room and a possessive lurch ripped through the half-Latina. 

There was a little mixer of sorts thrown by the school after the show – just casual drinks – to celebrate the end of an intense six weeks and to congratulate the students on their hard work. Students and faculty alike danced and chatted and got to spend time together outside of the classroom. 

Usually, Santana used this opportunity to show her students that she wasn’t as scary and intimidating as they all thought her to be. She’d have a few drinks and perform a song or two (almost always with Mercedes). 

This year, however, she was more occupied with trying to spot a platinum blonde head amongst the crowd. There was only around thirty-five people in the room and it didn’t take her long to judge that Quinn had bailed on the party. It shouldn’t have been surprising; she had kissed Santana earlier and then legged it before the dark-haired woman could say a word. 

Not that she knew what she would have said to that anyway. Thank you? Kiss me again? I think you’re gorgeous and I want to bend you over my desk and have my way with you? 

Yeah, no. 

She decided on an Irish goodbye and left the celebration before anyone could notice she was gone. If Quinn wasn’t here, then there was a very slim chance she could be at Santana’s apartment, in which case the older woman desperately wanted to be there too. 

Unsurprisingly, the blonde was not at home waiting for her, so she shot off a quick ‘Where are you? Are you ok?’ text before starting dinner for them both. A peace offering of sorts. 

Meanwhile, Quinn was sitting in her car in a random Walmart parking lot trying to decide how to proceed. She couldn’t go to the party; it would have been unbearably humiliating to have been pulled to one side in a room full of her peers to be told Santana didn’t want her like that. But then, she also couldn’t go back to the apartment either, because being there without its owner after what had happened earlier seemed massively inappropriate to her now. She was also worried Santana would come home and ask her to leave, or tell her she’d made other emergency arrangements for her. Which really, would be absolutely soul-crushing and beyond mortifying. 

So, that was how she ended up sitting in the parking lot until two in the morning. In that time, she’d received several text messages and missed calls from the older woman: ‘Where are you? Are you ok?’; ‘Quinn, please pick up, I’m worried’; ‘I’m not mad about earlier, come home and we can talk’; and ‘you have to come back eventually, all your stuff is here’. The last one was a little rude but it was clear Santana was getting desperate to speak to her. And really, she needed to stop running from her problems like this, it wasn’t healthy at all. 

After her phone ran out of battery, at around midnight, she left it a couple more hours – allowing time for Santana to go to bed – before she made her way back to the apartment. 

Opening the front door as quietly as she could, she was greeted by the immediate sight of Santana Lopez curled up with a blanket in a chair directly facing the entrance way. To her left, on the dinner table, sat two plates of food (completely untouched) and complimentary glasses of wine. 

The tanned woman jumped up as she saw Quinn enter, blanket falling to her feet; they stared at each other silently for a brief moment, an internal battle raging within them both. 

“I made dinner.” 

Then Quinn was striding across the room and Santana met her in the middle, their lips connecting passionately and hands grappling for purchase on waists and in hair. It was needy and urgent and Santana let her whole world spiral away from her. It was just Quinn, Quinn, Quinn. Soft, pink flesh that bruised oh-so easily and scars from a lifetime Santana hadn’t been a part of. She was hot and vocal and offered herself up so readily, open and moaning. 

All Quinn wanted was dark. Dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair. She wanted to be enveloped in it and be completely taken under. Santana was strong, tight muscles and curves Quinn could curl her fingers round and squeeze. She was deep, guttural noises and sure and steady movements. Her mouth found a home on every inch of flushed pale skin. Up against any and every surface that lent itself. 

And when they finally settled, pale on top of tan, a blanket lazily pulled over them, hazel looked into brown and saw the concern shining from them, a hand running up the bumps of the scars on her back. 

“You’re so beautiful-” 

“-Quinn...-” 

“-You are! You’re so beautiful and so sexy. I’ve wanted to do that since the day we first met.” 

Santana blushed beneath her, pushing her head up to press their lips together sweetly. “You aren’t the only one... When you danced this afternoon, I was going out of my mind that everyone got to see that side of you. Like it was just meant to be reserved for me. It was mine. Like _you_ were mine.” 

“Possessive.” That smile- that smile that Santana adored to see and was ecstatic to be the cause of- split across Quinn’s face at her own wise-crack and the older woman rolled her eyes. 

“I was worried about you this evening. Your fajitas are cold... Where were you?” 

“In a Walmart parking lot contemplating my existence...” The blonde traced the outline of plump lips with her forefinger. “You cooked for me.” 

“I cooked for you.” 

And that was enough to spark round two. And three... And four. 


End file.
